


Spill, Baby

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, Language, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Schmoop, canon divergent after 12x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: Cas is moving out of the bunker. Dean decides that's not gonna fly.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [braezenkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/braezenkitty/gifts).



> For my dear friend Braezenkitty: Please accept this as a thank you for all your kindness and support ^^
> 
> Everyone else, please accept this bit of fluff as a peace offering while I work on some larger pieces--COMING SOON!
> 
> Also, fic written for this [piece of artwork](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/post/154520209405/castiel-in-leather-because-we-were-robbed-in). (That’s right, I wrote  a ficlet to go along with my own painting. I’m such garbage...)     
> 

Cas was different now.

  


It’d started normal enough. Just a little change of ties here, a little bite of chocolate there. A contemplative face and narrowed eyes as he mulled different tastes over his tongue at any and every meal. “ _Can I try the macaroni and cheese?”_ and Dean would toss a look to Sam before sliding his plate across the table.

Then, Cas had switched to sporting a slim-fitting black leather jacket instead of his old trench just because, he _liked it._ Just because he _wanted to._ And that change had especially been hell, because Dean-- _honest to God_ \-- didn’t need any help skirting the filthier side of neutral when it came to the guy already.

More than once he’d caught Dean’s eyes on him after that, and more than once the tables were turned. 

“ _What’s up, Cas?”_

But, Dean would always get a knee-jerk “ _Nothing_ ,” before Cas ungracefully paced out of the room, hand wringing the back of his neck. 

In any case, it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary when Dean caught him shuffling down the hallway close to dawn with one of Dean’s old canvas duffels slung over his shoulder, the gut of it packed tight. 

Dean’s interest gladly jumped from the book cracked in front of him. “You movin’ out?” he chided. 

“Uh, yes,” Cas said bluntly, brushing past. 

Dean did a double-take.

“Whoa, hold up--” He fumbled out of his chair. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Just… going.”

“Okay… When you comin’ back?”

Cas dragged to a stop, hung in the doorway. “I’m… I don’t know. I might, uh, not.” 

He threw a flighty glance as Dean’s stomach flipped. “The hell? Is this cuz I didn’t share the pecan? It was the last piece, we can get more. You don’t gotta be dramatic.” It was just a joke, but _hell_ if Dean wasn’t hoping for a smile to break the tension anyway. 

Cas’ mouth stayed a drawn line.

“Talk to me,” he begged after another unnerving beat. It came out a lot more vulnerable than he’d meant it to, but this seemed urgent. _It felt urgent._

Cas hitched a breath, looked up the staircase, then back to Dean, the tendons in his neck strung out in the low, night light. He dropped the bag, and rolled a heavy thought through his shoulders. “Lucifer said I was a ‘weak, duty-bound, pleasureless dullard’,” he said, voice flat.

“Is that what’s gotten into you?” Dean smothered a chuckle, but he realized the smile came through his face anyway. 

Cas restrung the bag, grabbed the rail-- 

“\--The fuck you listenin’ to that needlessly wordy asshat for?”

“Because he wasn’t wrong, Dean.”

“Lucifer’s nothing but!” Dean scoffed.

“No. This, he wasn’t wrong about. You just essentially said the same thing to me now.”

“No,” Dean leveled a hand, “that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t sayin’ you were weak--”

“But, I am duty-bound. I am pleasureless… ”

“No,” Dean huffed. “You’re just different.”

Cas smiled, but it was pained. “I’m not,” he said quietly. “The truth is, I _like things_. I want to experience the world just like everyone else. I’m far removed from the angel I used to be. I’ve just learned the value of _pretending_. The value of _acting_. _Masking_. But all that comes at a price. You can only do it so long before it--” he chewed his lip, “starts eating at you.”

Dean ran a hand nervously back his hair. “Okay,” he said slowly. He moved to the bottom of the steps, looked up at him. “Keep talkin’.” Talking was not leaving, and _not leaving_ was fucking dire. Dean suddenly felt like his stomach was all strung up, and the look on Cas’ face only made it worse.

“I made a mistake,” Cas confessed, all his attention pooled at his feet. “I let Lucifer’s taunts get to me, and now I’m metaphorically drowning. It seems like every time I let myself indulge, every time I lift that veil of duty just long enough to let myself have a taste, or experience a feeling, or _want_ … everything compounds. It’s incredible how quickly the inclination to try a comfort food turns into something bigger. All I can think about now are the things I’ll never get. The flavors and feelings I… _want_ , but aren’t mine to have…”

“It’s just limitations, Cas. They suck, but we all got ‘em. You get used to ‘em.”

A sharp hit of that blue pulled Dean’s strings tighter. Cas’ eyes danced through Dean’s face, down his body, then quickly away again. “Maybe,” he muttered. “Except, I can’t seem to. I keep trying to dig myself back out, and I can’t…”

“Dig yourself outta what?”

“You.”

Dean snapped up tight and knew he’d gone wide-eyed--of course he did, there was suddenly nothing to stand on. Everything he’d always just assumed about Cas, or learned to be true had just been revoked like a grounded tween’s weekend privileges. Problem was, he couldn’t seem to screw his face on straight again, and whatever it was that Cas was reading in it, was turning his expression heavy. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered as a deep flush took his face. He scrubbed a nervous hand over his mouth, shook his head. “I didn’t intend to say anything. I really--” He fixed the strap on his shoulder and it etched into the leather. “I shouldn’t have said anything… ”

Dean watched him turn and go. The metal staircase groaned under his heavy footsteps. He reached the top, squeezed the end of the rail like it was gonna be the last time he’d ever touch it-- 

“Well, you did!” Dean rasped, brain screaming. “You say something like that, and then just leave? What the hell is that?” 

His voice kicked through the war room. The kitchen. 

Cas froze. 

The faucet was leaking again. Dean could hear it dripping through the pregnant _fucking_ pause. 

“I… I assumed--”

“Well, you’re wrong!” 

Dean swallowed his hammering heart and unglued his feet from the floor, hopped a couple stairs even though his knees begged him not to. He reached Cas and peeled the bag from his shoulder, tossed it over the rail and listened to it hit the floor below. If Cas wanted to leave, he was gonna have to get through Dean.

Cas blinked at him, wide-eyed and Dean suddenly stifled, got lost in his face. 

A step below, he quickly palmed Cas’ cheek, fit fingers just behind the curve of his head and pulled him down, tested a feathery kiss over the plush of his lips. He listened as Cas’ breath stilted. Felt his fingers suddenly dig into the front of Dean’s shirt. 

Then, again. Harder. Some of the surprise was taken out of the mix this time, all the ache filling in the holes. Cas leaned into him, worked his mouth open and offered a flirty tongue. Dean took a taste. Maybe he should’ve worried about what he’d last ate, or if he’d brushed his teeth in the last few hours, but he wasn’t. He was too concerned with fitting onto the landing beside Cas, raising up, and righting their heights. He was too concerned with showing Cas that he didn’t need to leave-- _that he_ _fucking couldn’t leave now._

He drank up the bouquet the leather left on Cas’ skin, and let the amorous moan that wormed its way from the back of Cas’ throat coil through him.He snuck a foot to the outside of Cas’ right heel, tucked up against him and reveled in his heat. As Cas re-angled, Dean slipped a soft hand down the curve of his neck, felt goosebumps chase his touch. He pulled back, smiled, felt the needy look Cas ate through him in his toes. 

“I guess you can’t just jet,” he whispered. “Looks like you ain’t the only one who’s been tryin’a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> [winchester-reload](http://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
